Of Turtlenecks and Tangled Threads
by MagicWrites
Summary: What happens when a meticulous turtleneck aficionado and a vulgar, self-proclaimed "ladies' man" find themselves tangled up in life, and maybe each other.    Rated M just to be safe.


**Author's Note: **This fic is written by myself, Rebecca (magicwrites aka feeny- on Tumblr), and Rebecca (welp-ok on Tumblr). I write as Remus, and she as Sirius. We will be alternating chapters, so as this one is from Remus's point-of-view, the next chapter will be from Sirius's. We hope you enjoy it! Leave us reviews, let us know what you think!

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_Remus Lupin_

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"I now call to order-"

"Where are the snacks?"

"Under your fat arse, Wormy."

"Hey! I'm talking here!"

James banged his fists against the creaking floorboards of the Shrieking Shack with such vehemence that his gold plastic crown toppled off his head. Momentarily distracted from his frustration, he positioned it back on his mop of black hair, purposely tilting it to the left with a look of deep self-satisfaction.

"If my arse is so fat, Padfoot-"

"That's Professor Padfoot to you. Respect the monocle and top hat, heathen."

"Why should he? You obviously have no respect for the Speaking Stick, which, if I must remind you, is currently in my possession."

"Yeah, Padfoot!"

"Shut it, Wormtail! You don't have the stick either!"

I smirked to myself, nibbling at my thumb nail. A ritual meant to take an hour that consistently dragged on for five - that's all it really was. Even Peter's brilliant addition of the aptly named "Speaking Stick," which was nothing more than a sanded-down branch with feather attached to it, failed to keep them quiet. I had stopped trying. In fact, I can't recall if I'd ever begun.

"I now call to order-"

"Prongs-"

"King Prongs-"

"King Prongs, may I have the Speaking Stick?" requested Peter in his poshest voice, raising his hand. Rolling his eyes, James lobbed the stick at Peter, who squealed as it ricocheted off his skull and rolled across the floor. Both he and Sirius scrambled to pick it up. After a brief struggle, Peter surprisingly emerged victorious, clutching the prize in his pudgy fist.

"If my arse is so fat, Professor, why aren't the crisps crushed?" he asked, out of breath, as he held the stick proudly above his head.

"You've got to be kidding me. You fought for the right to say that?" Sirius asked in bewilderment, running his hands through his mess of curls. "Priorities, Wormtail. Priorities."

"Can you two kindly shove it?" James didn't wait for the snide retort that Sirius was most definitely cooking up. "I now call to order the 42nd monthly Marauder's Meeting."

"Are you sure it's the 42nd?"

My voice cracked as I spoke, indicating that I had been silent for longer than I had originally believed.

"Typical Moony, only opening his mouth when he feels the irrepressible urge to correct someone's math," teased Sirius, giving me a playful shove. I could have made a witty comment about his wardrobe in return, but I kept quiet. He looked ridiculous, but then, so did they all. It had been from the childish brain of James that the costume tradition had sprung, but both Sirius and Peter had welcomed it. The monikers had evolved organically from their strange choices in apparel. Sirius, in an oversized top hat and monocle, had taken to calling himself Professor, though no academic I knew dressed as such. James had naturally chosen a crown and cape for the event, which was really just a formality, as King Prongs existed all the time. Peter donned a pirate hat and sash, wishing to be called Captain Wormtail, though no one ever seemed to remember; and Peter, being a dutiful servant of the King, rarely felt it fit to remind anyone. As for me, well, let's just say I had no real interest in the silly traditions James liked to concoct, but I knew how much they meant to the other three, and thus participated happily. That is why I foolishly allowed Sirius to choose my costume for me. From this naive mistake, Hopping Moony was born. Of all the things Sirius could have chose, I should have guessed he would have arrived at the first Marauder's Meeting with a pair of pink fuzzy bunny ears and a giddy expression.

"Now raise your left hand and put - your other left, Peter - and put your right hand over your heart," James continued, ignoring the possible error I had pointed out in his previous statement. "Repeat after me: I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

I repeated it with the others, though we were completely out of sync with each other. Peter spoke loudest, as usual, eager to be heard, while Sirius purposely repeated syllables to confuse the pirate to his right. We finished the ceremonial oath just as James placed the tip of his wand against the seemingly blank folded parchment which unfolded at his touch, words quickly scrawling themselves across its surface.

"Good," grinned James with satisfaction. "It is now time to discuss Moony's duncery."

"Duncery isn't a word," I corrected without hesitation, as if on autopilot, my words jumbled by the fingernail that I was still gnawing on. I looked up and could see James was unimpressed.

"Stop biting your nails," he scolded, grabbing my wrist and yanking my hand away from my mouth. "It's a filthy habit."

"A filthy habit for a filthy rabbit," Sirius chanted while shoving a handful of crushed crisps down the back of my cardigan. I shot him a threatening glare, but even my most genuine attempt at a scowl was unconvincing. Sirius just laughed and ruffled my hair with his hand. I began the tedious task of shaking the back of my shirt, but I knew that my best efforts would still result in a pile of crumbs on my bed when I undressed later that evening.

"Sirius, would you care to recite the crimes for which Moony has been named Dunce this month?"

"Gladly," smirked Sirius, standing up so as to command as much attention as possible. "For the crime of wearing turtlenecks despite several warnings-"

"Shame on you, Moony!" interjected Peter eagerly, though his reprimand was made quite feeble by the smile plastered across his chubby cheeks.

Turtlenecks. For some reason, Sirius had brought them up as a pet peeve at a meeting the previous year, effectively rendering half my wardrobe unacceptable. I wouldn't say fashion was high on my list of priorities. I wore those particular sweaters for a very particular reason that I didn't expect them to understand. None of them had hideous, self-inflicted scars covering their bodies that they couldn't remember creating, but I did. Every transformation left me with new deformities, some of which were permanent. Was it really a crime to try to hide that the best I could? According to Sirius, it most certainly was. I had given up arguing with him about it. To me, a little more dignity in public was worth the few hours I was forced to wear a dunce cap during each monthly meeting.

"For the crime of preventing the torture of one Snivellus Snape-"

"You must be joking!" I defended, throwing my hands up in frustration. I knew immediately that he was referring to the time when I stopped him from spiking Snape's pumpkin juice with an extremely powerful laxative. It wouldn't have been as harmless and hilarious as they thought - that much laxative was extremely dangerous. "You could have seriously hurt him! I saved you from possible expulsion. You should be thanking me!" The turtleneck complaint I could take, but this was just silly.

"I maintain it would have been worth it," he replied indignantly. "He only would have been in the loo for a few days!"

I shifted awkwardly. This topic had not sat well with me when Sirius had first devised it. Something about the idea made me uncomfortable, and also a little queasy. I was happy when he continued.

"Regardless, you broke the no-turtlenecks rule. So, Wormtail, the cap if you please?"

Peter grabbed the dunce cap from it's place in the corner and handed it to Sirius, who placed it roughly on my head, being sure to mess up my hair as much as possible while doing so. I shrugged indifferently. In the beginning, I had struggled against such a ridiculous humiliation, but I now embraced it openly. After all, I was the dunce every month. James refused to be dunce even if he'd done something wrong, Sirius was usually the reason I was dunce, and Peter was too dedicated to following the rules to ever err. As Sirius had told me the first time we'd been through this, from a convenient position on my chest, "Resistance is futile."

"Now on with the feast!"

Feast was not the word I'd use, but it was certainly special. Mainly composed of desserts and snack foods that Peter had been coerced into stealing, I couldn't deny I enjoyed this particular part of the ritual. I had an incorrigible sweet tooth. I didn't mind being forced into the ridiculous dunce cap every month given that I was sufficiently compensated with pumpkin pasties afterwards. Peter never failed to provide.

"As we eat, we will discuss this month's operations," James continued, adjusting his crown as Peter emptied his satchel full of illicit treats on the blanket that we sat around. "Padfoot, if you please."

Sirius jumped up at the sound of his nickname, pulling his wand out from the waistband of his jeans and levitating the Marauder's Map in front of him for all to see. Locating his prey on the map, he drew a temporary red target mark with his wand around the footprints marked Severus Snape.

"We attack at dawn. The mission: dung bombs in everything he owns. His trousers, his trunk, his book bag, everywhere. I want him to be unable to flinch without lighting one off," Sirius discussed his plan passionately, pacing back and forth as I snacked on a pumpkin pasty. "Now the main issue is going to be time delaying those little buggers…"

Some time after James suggested a variety of spells to solve that particular dilemma and Peter attempted in vain to sell his own prank, James threw a slice of treacle tart at Sirius's head and initiated the most ancient of all the Marauder traditions: ending every meeting in a food-turned-fist fight. As per usual, Sirius was quick to involve me, making sure to get my clothes exceptionally dirty.

Now we lay exhausted on the Shrieking Shack's wooden floor, completely covered in dessert, laughing uncontrollably. As low-key as I was compared to my comrades, I couldn't resist a battle once I had been challenged. I tried to forget how close the other boys were to me, but I couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that accompanied the invasion of my personal space. I tried also to forget that my cardigan was stained with chocolate pudding and that the moisture trickling down my neck was not my own sweat, but the melted ice cream Sirius had poured over me. He was the first to rise from our pile-up, shoving a pumpkin pasty in my face with a smirk. The other two cackled maniacally as they too stood.

"Mischief managed!" James announced, signalling the end of the meeting as he placed is wand against the map, watching the ink disappear before shoving into his rucksack.

As he made his way out of the Shrieking Shack, Peter following closely behind, I slowly wiped my face with my hands, the mess of it all finally getting to me. I opened my eyes, and through vision clouded by pumpkin mush, I could see Sirius offering his hand. I took it, allowing him to pull me to my feet. He gave my forehead a wipe with his sleeve before throwing his arm around me and pulling me towards the exit. Hesitating for a moment, knowing I couldn't escape him if I tried, I returned the gesture and wrapped my arm around him. Laughing in unison, we made our way back to the castle.


End file.
